


Jeeves and the amorous con artist

by id_ten_it



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Competent Bertram "Bertie" Wooster, England (Country), Gay Bar, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Piano playing Bertram "Bertie" Wooster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:54:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23426566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/id_ten_it/pseuds/id_ten_it
Summary: Jeeves and Wooster both attend a particular club, but neither is aware of t'other. Meanwhile, the bartender is in love with someone inappropriate, hands are laid on the Wooster corpus (and shrugged off again), Rocky is mentioned, and someone decides that facial hair will help the situation.Hijinks, mangled quotations, and two chaps working together to save the day -Will it all come out alright in the end?Of course it will! Jeeves is on the case.
Relationships: Reginald Jeeves & Bertram "Bertie" Wooster, Reginald Jeeves/Bertram "Bertie" Wooster, Reginald Jeeves/Other(s), Rockmetteller "Rocky" Todd/Bertram "Bertie" Wooster
Comments: 16
Kudos: 71
Collections: New Year's Resolutions 2020





	Jeeves and the amorous con artist

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jibrailis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jibrailis/gifts).



> Thank you for such a lovely open prompt jibrailis! I hope this is fun for you (even if there is no Jeeves in Space or Bertie as a Veela).
> 
> The original prompt was:  
> I chose the book fandom but am also totally happy to receive something more in line with TV fandom. Jeeves & Wooster is my forever love; I go back to it again and again shaking AO3 to see if more fics will fall out of the cracks. Hijinks are my fave when it comes to any Wodehouse fic, and I'll also profess a huge fondness for seeing Bertie being the one to save the day. Lately I've been thinking about the weird and wonderful AUs that one could produce for this fandom. Like: what if Bertie was somehow the heir to a small European nation (aka Princess Diaries it up). What if Bertie was part Veela? What if they were wizards? What if they were in space? But if you're not into writing AUs, canon or canon-adjacent would also make me very happy. Gen or slash - either is fine as well.

I don’t know if you’ve particularly noticed it, but just as everything is rolling along as sweet as a nut, life suddenly seems to notice you’re getting nicely settled and decides to lob a jolly great spanner in the works. So it was with me that fateful Thursday. Life saw that day as the one to start picking on Bertram. As is often the way at the tail end of the theatre season, Jeeves had woken self with a cup of English Breakfast well after the sun had first risen. It was at that moment, practically, when my troubles began to gather around me, sniffing like dogs wondering whether or not I had sprinkled the old trousers with aniseed.  
“Good Morning Sir” Jeeves intoned, respectfully, “I trust last night’s entertainment was enjoyable?”  
“And a very good morning to you too, Jeeves. It was, thank you. Didn’t wake you, did I?”  
“Not that I recall, Sir.” My man replied, regarding the sky with a certain amount of satisfaction. “A clement day, Sir, although it should not surprise me if it were to attempt rain tonight.”

  
I murmured indistinctly into the needful, allowing it to slosh into the Wooster stomach and spread its happiness throughout the Wooster body. While this was occurring, Jeeves had withdrawn and re-emerged with the toast, the marmalade, the butter, and a teapot full to bursting with the inviting amber liquid.  
“Am I right in supposing you will be attending another show tonight, Sir?” he enquired, while topping up the Wooster drinking vessel.  
“Quite right, Jeeves. I doubt there’s a man in London who’s been to as many shows as I have!”  
“I am inclined to agree with you, Sir.”

  
All the normal sort of chatter the young master might engage in with his man, of a morning, and not at all something to raise the eyebrows about, unless you knew the secret of the y. m. in question. Bertram Wooster is not usually the type to go in for secrets, ask anyone, and especially not secrets from that paragon of paragons, Jeeves. Normally it is impossible to keep secrets from Jeeves at the best of times, they just come bubbling out once he looks at one a certain way, but this particular secret was vital. The y. m. had obtained a job, and while it was one of only about three jobs I’d ever seriously consider as acceptable, it cast certain aspersions on the y. m.’s character which might have meant an end to the current matey relationship Jeeves and self enjoyed. To be quite blunt about it all, I had recently begun tickling the ivories at a club for gentlemen of a certain persuasion where the usual pianist had had his resignation tendered for him. This unusual fit of employment had begun shortly after the start of London’s theatre season, and I had leapt at the obvious cover said season provided. Of course, although I was now a serious working man, I still did go to the theatre regularly, usually with a group from the Drones, so it was not difficult to work this brainy scheme. As well as providing much pleasure to self, this meant the gents could enjoy the latest numbers hot from the East End without having to wait for the music to be published, which leant a certain tone to the tunes.

  
To be perfectly clear, I wasn’t living in fear that Jeeves would discover all and shout ‘what ho!’ to a passing bobby, or anything that sinister. Jeeves, for all his hidebound attitude re neckwear and shirtfronts is essentially accepting of others. He certainly has never betrayed me to an Aunt but for my own good and the good of all involved. No, Jeeves’ opinion of Natures Bachelors as a general idea was more than likely a disinterested eye and a request not to involve him in their shenanigans. What I was worried about was Jeeves’ opinion of this particular Bachelor of Nature. I mean to say, dressing and undressing a fellow who could very well be nodding off to sleep with some impure thoughts about the dresser’s corpus would put the wind up a chappie, what? I well remember chaps in the past who have suddenly turned the carefree bathe in a local river or sea into something rather more fruity, and not all of these chaps I’d have thought that way inclined or particularly, well, interesting. Fillies have sometimes done the same thing down the Riviera, but this is a different kettle of fish entirely. Since I couldn’t solemnly promise Jeeves that I wasn’t interested, or that I was currently settled with a specific example of manliness, I had resolved to keep the matter under wraps.  
This is all rather a long introduction to explain the lay of the land prior to continuing with the story.

As I say, self had informed Jeeves that attending a show was the plan for the evening, and was busily getting outside a light repast. I was interrupted mid-bite by a gentle cough from the world’s brainiest cove. “Yes Jeeves?”  
“I merely wondered Sir if you would be good enough to allow me to accompany you to the theatre tonight. I have heard _Battling Butler_ is particularly amusing and several members of the Junior Ganymede are attending tonight.”  
“I hardly would have thought _Battling Butler_ your style, Jeeves.”  
“As I say, Sir, there is a club outing tonight. Our secretary is well acquainted with the backstage director and has obtained several tickets for our use. As it is my night off…”  
“Oh I don’t mean you should stay home Jeeves. As you say, it’s jolly amusing. All fun stuff, especially ‘Apples, Bananas, and You’. We shall leave at eight of the clock, if that suits you, there to meet our respective club members and join in the revels.” Notice here the talent of the Wooster. He does not lie, he does not tell a falsehood! No! He is subtle, cunning, urbane. Jeeves may well be meeting Junior Ganymede members, but Wooster is not meeting Drones members, not at all. Wooster, in fact, intends to enter the front door and slink out the back, thus making his way to the other club he is visiting – mere blocks away – and putting himself to good, honest, work.  
“Very good Sir. I shall prepare your bath, Sir.” The man trickled off like a calming stream.

***

We left as planned, thankfully untroubled by nefarious Auntly activities, pulling up outside the theatre in good time. Jeeves allowed me to pay the full taxi fare, and held the door for self as we entered the packed vestibule. “Thank you Sir. I see my colleagues are already gathering. I shall see you at home Sir.”  
“Very punctual coves, aren’t they? Yes, yes, indeed. See you later old thing. Don’t wait up on my account.”  
“Very good Sir.” The man disappeared without another word. If I hadn’t seen him sharing cheerful what-ho’s with his colleagues over in the corner I’d have thought he was a mere imagining of the Wooster brain.

I hung about for a bit, gradually working my way through the crowd and then taking advantage of their general surge seat-wards to duck out again and stroll into work. It still gave me a deuced odd notion considering myself a working man, and of course the old accounts had needed a bit of brushing up as Jeeves normally sees to them. Still, I had decided to take my packet in the cold hard cash, and by carrying it in the pocket book and sprinkling it on the occasional purchase throughout the month, fancied I was dealing quite nicely with the problem. Certainly, Jeeves apparently questioned nothing.

Despite a pleasant amble I was still a little earlier than normal, so perched up at the bar sipping a snooterful. By this stage I had well recovered from the shock of Jeeves’ request to accompany self to the theatre, and fancied the world held no further disasters for young Bertram. I fancied incorrectly, however, for I was but halfway through the snooter when a man appeared on the edge of my vision and making closer with every second.

Bertram is not a shy man, as a rule, and has had more than a little fun following a spin on the piano, but not beforehand and not with someone looking rather along the lines of the Albert Hall, only larger and a little older. I have rarely been described as Adonis, but a man has his standards dash it! More than standards, a man has his preferences, and mine are a little closer in size and age to self, and a little more separated in bearing and decrepitude to Aunt Agatha.

Being unwilling to cause a scene, and knowing that as soon as I finished my drink I would be up and cutting a fine figure at the keys, I spun around on the old stool and slithered to a stand while swallowing the needful.

“Cheers Tom” self beamed, wriggling cheerful fingers at the bartender and seating the billowy portions at the upright. Having been very nearly at Battling Butler I started off with my favourite ‘Apples, Bananas, and You’, which got the attention of most patrons. I shan’t tell you what the rest of the patrons were doing that distracted them from the music.

  
I was well through the third chorus when I noted the Albert Hall chap having a conversation with Tom the bartender. Tom looks somewhat like self; he’s more than capable of standing up for himself and knows what he likes and doesn’t, so I hoped all was well. I certainly took this to mean that there was no untoward interest in the Wooster corpus from The Edifice. Flattering, in a way, but undeniably undesired. I am by no means particularly choosy – it is not entirely unheard of for self to enjoy the sort of tussle that a bigger boned man can provide – but I do like my men to be men, and not at all resembling Aunts.

The next song was a little trickier, and once I’d played that and got through a couple requests and their accompanying drinks, and was playing a spirited Charleston for the young couple cutting an energetic swathe through the floor, I wasn’t taking appropriate precautions. I was well through an old, yet still perfectly enjoyable, ‘When Pigs Begin to Fly’ when A. Hall threatened to interrupt the tune by leaning against the piano. He placed a couple of glasses on top of same, winking in a perfectly foul way.

“Music is the perfect type of art…how fitting it comes from a man as perfect as yourself.” He picked up one of the glasses with his bloated sausages, tipping it in my direction before having a sip.  
“I, er…well. Thank you.” I stuttered. I cursed the half-drunk glass at my elbow as a clear sign that I normally welcomed a drink while playing, and thus could hardly make that as an excuse. “Are you blushing?” he leered, leaning closer in a loathsome sort of way.

  
Normally I can make cheery conversation and play at the same time, but this was pushing my limits. Making polite conversation with a boor who appeared to have designs on the Wooster frame, while playing, was a little much. “Um.” I contributed, before pointedly skidding to confusion on the second twiddly bit from the end of the verse.  
“Oh I _am_ sorry.” The loathsome leerer lied, but he did subside into silence. I finished up quite easily after that, glancing out on the floor and sliding into a slower waltz for the older couple in the corner who were lost in each other’s eyes, frowning at my pursuer. I was about to make a cutting remark – I was just sharpening it – when the laddie from the front bar came through raising Cain.  
  


“Rozzers!” I gasped, leaping over the piano bench and towards the bar like an escaping gazelle upon sensing a lion. Being about a century younger than The Edifice, this was also a good move to freedom of the Wooster corpus. Tom had the back door open already and we raced through it, dodging left and right towards the open spaces.

  
“Got you away from that monster” Tom whispered into the old eardrum, as we joined the other serving staff that had made it to the agreed meeting point. “He looks uncannily like one of my Aunts!” I muttered back. Tom shuddered, like the decent chap he is, but forbore further conversation due to the potential proximity of the law and the need for us to concentrate on dispersing a little to look less enticing to passing narks, while awaiting the arrival of any stragglers. While we waited, I mourned my piano, which had been a decent enough instrument, especially given the locality. Being an old hand at taking proper precautions, I hadn’t been as unwise as to bring any music in with me, but it still stung.

  
Tom was still beside me, his solid presence warming despite neither of us having a coat to our name. I’d miss that coat, too, now I thought about it. The good barman cleared his throat, huddling a little. “This was a good spot” he mourned, and I had to agree with him, slinging the arm around him for warmth.  
“Maybe we can come back here soon enough.” I tried to comfort him.  
“Soon enough they’ll be using the warehouse next door for their trains and we can’t be carrying on somewhere we might get visitors.” At least the darkness covered the dark flush I got when Tom ran his drink-sticky fingers over the well-fitting trousers. By the sounds of it we weren’t the only ones, and I had already withstood agonising minutes while trying to block out the obvious sounds of the not-so-hidden filling in their time. Tom, bless him, didn’t seem too concerned when I tangled our fingers instead and tried to peck his cheek. I got his ear but he didn’t seem to mind.

  
It must have been at least a quarter of an hour later, with nobody else having turned up for some time, when I asked Tom what we should do next. “I don’t know Bertie” he pouted, nuzzling in a distracting fashion at the starched collar, “can’t we just stay here?”  
“You know we can’t old thing.” I attempted reason, “do stand up, there’s a good chap. Where’s…old what’s his name? the bally manager?”  
“Guess he ain’t here.” Tom withdrew himself with a gusty exhale, sort of shook all over like a dog coming out of the water, and fixed himself up a bit. We’d never gone into details about each other’s lives, but he had a most fetching way of rising to every situation that always made me think of one of those explorer chappies. Coupled with his bronzed and fit body, I’d always rather assumed him an actual explorer, or at the least some sort of bastion of Empire. All of which is mere background to him taking charge and giving the waiting throng an address to report to in a week’s time. Most of them listened then went right back to what they were doing, but the night was still young and a Wooster has never let down a pal in need.

  
“I suppose we’d better go and salvage what we can,” Tom sighed, “before the Bobbies come back to do their photographs and things. Come on Bertie.” We traipsed back, keeping a weather eye out for the law.  
“Do you think the others all made it?” In this, I referred chiefly to the fellow who ran the whole concern, a man not exactly known for moving quickly or skimping on his meals. “Oh, absolutely.” Tom assured me, turning into the street parallel to the one we wanted, and talking quietly, “didn’t you hear about his bolt-hole?” as I shook my head, he explained, “it’s one of the things he liked about this place. That Royal Mail warehouse that they’re opening nearby is going to be part of the rail system they’ve been building as you know, and the new extension runs right alongside His Nibs’ office. They’ll be hiding in there.” His eyebrow waggle was expansive and I felt the blood rush to my face at the implications. “Probably busy balancing the books.” Tom continued, and I’m blowed if the chap wasn’t enjoying my discomfit.

  
Tom went first, of course, slipping ahead to check on any police presence and coming back to report just a lonely constable at either entrance, presumably awaiting further fellows of the law to return for evidence. Given neither of us were wearing coats on this brisk night, it would be a little obvious we were looking for something, so a bit of a diversion was in order. Tom looked at self, cocking an eyebrow as if to say ‘well, what about it?’, to which self replied in the same method, ‘well _what_ about it?’ and the upshot was that I went along the road like a particularly sozzled member of the aristocracy, engaging the copper in cheerful banter regarding his helmet while Tom slipped in the side door. I managed to follow a little time later, uplifting my coat with silent thanks. There wasn’t anything like a laundry mark on it, but it would have made for some dashed unpleasantness with Jeeves if I were to have to explain where I had lost the thing. I grabbed Tom’s, too, and went through to the main office in time to see Tom open the trapdoor into the tunnels as silently as thistledown.  
I don’t know why I was so surprised to find the accountant with his trousers well below his knees, but I was. Not the general act, naturally, but the tunnel was fairly filthy, being just a ventilation shaft at this entrance, and the police could be through any minute. Eventually the four of us – the manager, the accountant, Tom, and self (even redder than before) – made it back out of the office and towards the exits. We were creeping as well as we could, with varying levels of success, when there was a general commotion outside like a hundred angry policemen coming back to finish the job. We tumbled back into the main club, rushing for the back.  
  


I don’t know if you’ve ever seen the Drones after a big binge? This was somewhat like that, only rather light on the bread rolls. All the small things had been overturned, though the piano and larger bits of furniture remained upright. “We’d best get out quickly,” my erstwhile employer rumbled, “they’re back for photographs and evidence already, keen beans. Come on.” He led us in a surprisingly quick trot towards the back door. I shoved Toms coat at him as we followed, throwing it around his shoulders as he gabbled the details he’d told the rest of the escapees. The black wool fluttered out behind his dashing figure as we broke away from the others into the main road. By an unspoken agreement, we settled into a nearby bar for a restorative.  
  


“Phew!” I exclaimed, awaiting the r. with more than a little eagerness, “if that doesn’t count as a tidy night’s work I don’t know what does.”  
“Bertie” my companion murmured, “I admire you a heck of a lot, but could you possibly belt up for a few moments?”  
The poor man seemed more than a little distressed, not that I could blame him, so I settled down to get outside my whisky and s. and let his grey cells toil away. Every now and then Jeeves needs roughly the same treatment while he comes up with a bally masterful plan, so it wasn’t too difficult for me to comply. I’d finished his drink too and ordered us a second round when he finally emerged from wherever he’d been and announced himself more than a trifle miffed to find I’d inhaled both glasses.  
“Never mind laddie, there’s another round coming” I counselled, “in the meantime, is there anything you want to share? You were rather a long time thinking.”  
“I bet it’s longer than you’ve spent thinking” he returned, entirely without malice. I could hardly deny the truth of this, and waited respectfully. “I was just thinking of the chappies that got caught” he admitted a little wistfully, “but I couldn’t possibly go and see if we can get them out of gaol early. That would as good as get us arrested too.”  
Stop me if you’re already aware of this, but the thing about getting pulled in a raid like this, if you are mostly clothed, sound fairly native, and aren’t hobnobbing around the place overtly being the owner of said establishment, is the magistrate tends to just let one off with a fine and a warning. A little more dire than getting caught up in a raid _a la_ the Mottled Oyster, but not that much. The last time it happened to me was more than a couple winters ago, but I knew nothing essential had changed. “I shouldn’t, if I were you.” I mused, “no need to go giving the game away.”  
“I know that” Tom admitted, “doesn’t stop me wanting to rally round.” He heaved a sigh rather stiffer than the drink he was nursing. I grinned.  
“Hallo-all-allo. You’re not just going around there cause it’s the decent thing to do!”  
He blushed and hushed the eager words, but I continued to tease.

“You’re in love m’boy. Well, do the sensible thing.” I admonished him, quietly enough to please his ongoing pleas for discretion, “don’t bother about going in tonight, but get yourself a good sleep and then tomorrow morning ankle around to the magistrate at about nine or so, presenting yourself to the individual with fresh clothes and the offer of a spot of coffee. Believe me, they’ll fall on your neck, unless they’ve recently gone through and upgraded those holding cells.” He regarded me with something that nearly amounted to appreciation, “you know what? I will, at that. Thanks awfully, Bertie.”  
“Don’t mention it old thing. Just be sure to let me know the outcome next week.”  
“I will. Ta-ra.”  
“Toodle-pip.” I wriggled my fingers after him, giving him enough time to clear the area before I ankled out as well. No matter how matey we might be, and we had been exceedingly matey more than once, we’d never quite got to the stage of catching up outside of this particular bubble. We still didn’t know each other’s real names, let alone which part of London each other called home.

  
***  
  


Jeeves awoke self with his patented restorer and a cup of tea, both of which I drank with much gusto although the first mentioned wasn’t really necessary. “I shall order you a new suit jacket this morning Sir.” The paragon intoned, once I was suitably ready to face such weighty matters, “unless you desire a new cut of evening wear?”

His intonation suggested strongly that I did not want such a horror to befall me, and truth be told I did think I cut a rather dashing figure in this particular style of penguin. “Order away, Jeeves.” I told him, “as you have no doubt surmised, I ran into a spot of bother last night, but nothing to trouble yourself about.”  
“It is not my place, Sir.” Jeeves agreed, oiling around with the mid-morning pot of oolong.  
“Oh, you know I tell you anything important. Just some unexpected running and general high-jinks. You know how these evenings go. Still, I was fond of that jacket.”  
“I shall obtain a new one directly.” Jeeves informed me, settling the cushion just so before standing respectfully before self. This is his usual indication that he has something he wishes to speak with the young master about, and I inclined the noggin graciously.

  
“Thank you Sir. I did not wish to disturb you, however I wonder if I could be spared this Saturday evening.”  
“This weekend Jeeves? This is rather short notice, is it not?” It isn’t like Jeeves to spring this sort of shock on a chap, even one curled up with the latest murder mystery and a cup of his favourite tea.  
“I apologise Sir, however I have found several matters of a personal matter that should be dealt with expediently. If it were not so vital…”  
“Say no more! If you say it must be done this way, then ‘twere well ‘twere done quickly and all that. I daresay I can manage a night or two on my own.”  
“You are too kind Sir. I do not anticipate being absent come Sunday.”  
“Don’t rush back on my account, Jeeves.” I reassured him, as if the flat wouldn’t feel rather empty without him.  
“Thank you Sir. If you will excuse me, I thought to speak with your tailor prior to attending to the marketing.”  
“Carry on Jeeves.” I flapped a paw in his direction, sipped the tea, and returned to the book.

  
It was a restful sort of week, all told, with the most excitement coming from the two nights I had been pressed into service providing clean and bright entertainment for a local children’s home that had fallen one short of performers at the last minute. As ‘Sonny Boy’ had not been sung, and self had been met with nothing more terrifying than a round of applause, I was feeling more than a little oojah-cum-spiff come the day of parting.

  
“I appreciate this Sir. In the event that matters take longer than anticipated, I have arranged for Mrs. Brown from 4B to ensure there is breakfast available for you. I reassured her you are more than capable of managing your own tea and toast.” His left eyebrow quirked slightly, and I laughed sheepishly.  
“Only ‘cause you taught me, Jeeves. You stand alone.” When he had left, I flopped onto the chesterfield like a particularly disconsolate puppy. He hadn’t seen fit to confide in me what, precisely, the nature of this personal matter was, and I hadn’t been able to work it out for myself. The only thing I knew was that none of his family had died, as I had been so bold as to ask prior to subsiding to silence as he fixed self with a forbidding stare. A Wooster does not go about forcing confidences, especially of a Jeeves.

  
While I was moping about, a small glimmer of hope deigned to show itself. Like the proverbial sliver of light around a cloud, I realised that for the first time in a long time, I should be able to come and go as I pleased. Not that Jeeves is particularly censorious (except in the matter of clothing), but this evening was the Grand Reopening of the club that had caused all the problems the week before, and it was nice to know that there was plenty of space back at the flat, should I want it. At the very least, I should be able to return at whatever hour desired, without being concerned unduly with presenting a façade to a man who made his living reading my every thought. Somewhat cheered, therefore, I dressed self at the appointed time, and made my way to the new address.

  
***  
  


The club was rather similar to the old one, which wasn’t too much of a surprise. Plenty of rich fabrics draped around a semi-abandoned building, cheap furnishings, and a series of sort of niches or alcoves where chaps to get to know each other. Still, with the lighting turned down and plenty of well-dressed eager bodies clamouring to get to the bar, it wasn’t a bad place. In fact, once one turned a blind eye to the general unkempt look of the bricks that formed most of the walls, it was fairly cosy. There was even a smattering of cushions and a billiards table peeking out at one end. I have no idea where this table came from, but no doubt whoever had donated it had already made peace with it never returning to the old homestead. The only thing this new location was really missing was a piano, but I hadn’t expected to find one this early on.

  
“Alright Bertie?” Tom was back behind the bar, leaping about the place like a prize jackrabbit, but always landing with an overflowing of the cup of the needful.  
“Rather.” Self eyed the selection with some fervour, “make mine a 75, it feels like that sort of night.” It was but two leaps later when I was presented with the overflowing c. in exchange for but a modicum of gold, and a swift kiss that self hadn’t expected. I was going to investigate further, but the press of citizens was too much to stay in one place for long and I allowed myself to be swept towards the seating. On my way I received a filthy look from a chap with the sort of moustache that could be affixed to a bicycle’s front tyre in lieu of real handlebars. Built somewhat along the lines of self, although a little more solidly put together, I couldn’t see what his problem was. Giving him a jolly wave, all was soon well with Bertram. The drinks, the eager crowd, and a rather fruity series of gramophone records, resulted in self slinging the shoe with a good deal of vim. In short, it was shaping up to be the most terrific binge, and I was enjoying myself immensely.  
  


The trouble with enjoying myself immensely is that it never seems to last. I was back over at the bar in search of another drink, when Tom again looked to peck the damask cheek. This time I managed to engage him in conversation, the crowd having mostly dispersed to fumble together – vertically or horizontally depending on preference. “Not that I’m not jolly flattered, old chap, but I thought we’d moved past the _amor_ stage of affairs.”  
“It’s not you Bertie.” Tom passed me two glasses with every expression of goodwill.  
“Oh. Thanks.”  
“I don’t mean like that! I mean, I’m not trying to start anything up again, I just…” the poor chap looked quite harried, glancing left and r. as though a fiancée were out to get him.  
“You look like a fiancée were out to get you.” I informed him. The resultant groan was enough to tell me all I needed to know. “You’re not aiming for that chappie with the, er, luxuriant mo’, are you old bean?” he groaned another hollow one, looking helplessly around as though assistance would be in the offing. Normally, at a time like this, I offer Jeeves, but Jeeves wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this, so I offered self instead. “Touch of the old green-eyed, that what you’re going for eh? Can’t say I blame you, it’s a tried and true method. Many’s the chap I know who’s found it a good way to get to the nub of the issue. Is he looking now?” Tom, still as red as a costermonger hawking beets in winter, glanced sideways and nodded. “Aye.”

  
“Then pucker up.” I advised him, putting one drink down the throat and the other on the bar safely out of the way. Next thing, the hands were sliding up and around his quite handsome face, and we were locked well and truly into one of the steamier labial presses I’ve initiated. It went on for some little time before self subsided, panting, to press a few lingering ones on the dial then pick up the second drink, wink, and wander in the direction of the couches. I made sure to give Handlebar a good smirk, as much to say ‘don’t dither or young Tom’ll be mine tonight’, on my way past. He seemed to take the hint and I subsided to enjoy the spoils of the bar with a clear conscience. I suppose, looking through the forest of hair, the bloke didn’t have a bad face really. Tom, bless him, is fond of the whiskers – says it reminds him he really is with a chap. Given how Jeeves reacted when self attempted the face fungus, it’s probably a good thing Tom and I aren’t together. After all, there’s keeping the man in your life happy, and then there’s keeping your man happy, and I know which I’d prefer, what?

  
I was sitting in the corner thinking of this and that, enjoying the glass of gut-rot, and making occasional murmurs to the fellows around me, when I saw the glimpse of a familiar head out of the corner of one eye. Ask any fellow you like, Bertram Wooster isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but he’s blessed with fully-functioning baby blues and more than capable of putting them to use. Somehow managing to tear my attention from the chatter about the European economy, I searched the room more carefully. Nothing. Well, that was a relief. Probably one too many cocktails. This was the cue for all good men to get in some more dancing before they were too uncoordinated to enjoy it fully, so I skipped out of the finer details of Spanish taxation fraud and into the throng of bodies. Tom gave me a small wave which I cordially returned, working around to the man he had the grand pash for. Perhaps I could kill two birds with one stone.

  
I was so busy wriggling and shimmying my way around the crowd, that I didn’t notice until it was too late that I was on a collision course with a fleetly moving chap twirling another chap around until it was hard to see who was leading or who was having the more fun. The one I could see more clearly was a man I recognised from around the traps, funny sort of a name, a little older than self, a little less likely to run about the place jumping into bed with fellows. Reminded me a little of Jeeves, in that he normally sat talking with the brainier coves, who paid homage with glasses of brandy or whisky. Theodore, that was his name!

As the music slowed, Theodore and his partner slowed too, getting a lot closer and calmer, and I saw my moment. This melting music was exactly what I’d play for mood music, while Tom’s moustachioed marvel was swooping closer; as I couldn’t play I could use it to further a friend’s noble cause. It was a particularly striking face fungus.

  
I was just edging a little further to the north-north-west, when Theodore and his partner completed the revolution they’d been conducting, and I found myself face-to-face with Jeeves. Our eyes met for a moment, before his rotation and my half-completed step pulled our gazes apart. Jeeves! I say! I got a crick in my neck trying to make eye contact again. When achieved, I saw the man had stiffened somewhat, holding himself like he wasn’t entirely sure what to do. I grinned sunnily, tickled that maybe he didn’t, and also because to see Jeeves at a loss was rather like seeing that the sun had forgotten to rise. Then, to prevent awkwardness developing, I hoofed it over to the object of Tom’s affections, and got to chatting. The object of Tom’s a. took up a great deal of my time, but we got there in the end. By the end, there was no further sign of Jeeves or Theodore, and I didn’t particularly want to interrupt anyway, so I had one final one for the road – Tom paid as a thank you – and shoved off to the old homestead. After all that had happened, I didn’t feel like sticking around looking for a fellow for Bertram.

  
As I lay in bed, I pondered what I had learnt. Theodore had been rumoured to be leaving soon. He looked unusually confident with Jeeves. Unusual for Theodore I mean, Jeeves has the sort of bearing that makes most people more than a little comfortable just to be near him. Was it possible that Jeeves and Theo. had been carrying on together? Jeeves had never given any sign of inversion! “Come on, you chump” the grey matter reminded me, “Jeeves could run the country with one arm tied behind his back. You really think he’d let you learn a thing like that?” Tickled by the image of Jeeves as the PM, and rather relaxed from the 75s and whatever else Tom had fed self, I fell asleep without much of an answer.

  
***  
  


The next morning I had to manage without Jeeves, but this was no particular hardship since my principle care was ankling round to the Drones to mangle a spot of lunch and catch up with some of the old boys. One thing led to another, and by the time I got home Jeeves was making interesting smells from the depths of the kitchen.

  
“That smells divine!” I informed him, sticking the hooter around the door.  
“Thank you Sir. I trust you had an enjoyable morning?” The wonder prepared a pot for self, offering me a biscuit with a deft raise of two hairs of his right eyebrow. Settled with the pot, cup and saucer, and a shortbread finger, I felt the confusion of the night before melt into mere bemusement. “Very enjoyable old thing, thanks. Yourself?”  
That inimitable eyebrow raised a little as if to say ‘you think we should talk about this?’  
“Very pleasant thank you, Sir. Your tea will be ready, Sir.” He returned to doing indecipherable things with a knife, and I watched him with renewed interest.  
“Jeeves.”  
“Sir?”  
“Jeeves, I have a bit of a problem.” I was extemporising here, but inspiration had struck so I followed her heady song.  
“I am sorry to hear that, Sir.” The green cubes of some sort of vegetable were slid tenderly into the pan, which plopped briefly before returning to silence. “Would you like to share the problem, Sir?”

  
I swallowed the end of the first cup of tea and regarded his domain like I hadn’t seen it in a while. “I have a friend, you see, quite a close friend I always thought, and yet I’ve rather been keeping a secret from him.” Jeeves’ capable hands stilled in their stirring, so I knew he was listening closely.  
“Has this upset your friend, Sir?”  
“I don’t know, Jeeves. I don’t know. When he discovered it we weren’t exactly in a spot where one could have a heart to heart, and it’s not the sort of thing one just bungs down on the table over a cuppa. But I’m not sure if it’d be wanted. Because if I told this friend that I knew he knew, well, it might make things dashed awkward.” I heaved a heavy sigh, pouring another cup moodily.  
Jeeves slipped the lid onto the heavenly-scented pan, and turned to regard me. “I take it you do wish to – ahem – clear the air with your friend, Sir?”  
“I think it essential, Jeeves.”  
“You have considered that your friend may not feel any need to talk at length on the subject? If it is as sensitive as you say, perhaps they would prefer to carry on as before, with yourself and them pretending nothing has happened, Sir.”

  
I goggled, not having thought of that. “I hadn’t thought of that, Jeeves.” I admitted, “but it sounds pure drivel to me. I mean, having some secret hanging about but never openly acknowledged seems the height of folly to me.” I downed some more tea, glum. “What would you do in my posish, Jeeves?”  
Jeeves regarded the young master with something approaching trepidation, if I was reading him quite right. He sort of turned, as though to do something to the pan, then turned back when confronted by the closed lid. “I could not say Sir.” He murmured, with the sort of jawline that suggests he could say, but doesn’t want to. It’s a dashed handsome jaw, come to that.

  
“Well, then how about you sit down, Jeeves?” I waved the paw as imperiously as one can when faced with 6 foot or so of determined manservant. He must have been feeling more disturbed than he let on, for suddenly he was seated opposite me with every appearance of wanting to listen.  
“We are both men of the world, Jeeves. As such it is bootless to pretend we are not, well, men. Men have needs, all perfectly natural and above board. Except now it isn’t, which is dashed silly and will one day change if I have anything to do with it. So let’s not pretend this is something more than it is, or make things awkward for the other fellow, hey? I certainly don’t intend to start bringing chaps around here or anything untoward like that, nor do I propose following you along to a joint for a spot of mutual enjoyment. Er. I mean. Well.” I gulped down the tea while Jeeves watched with a sort of horrified look on his phisog. “I mean, I shan’t be actively following you along to a binge, but I don’t think we should give up attending them just because it might be awkward. We had the most awfully jolly time pretending to be Rocky, after all. So I propose we should carry on as we have been, saying ‘what ho’ should we run into each other, and allow people to presume we are friends and no more.” He was still looking like someone had set a dashed orange paisley tie down in front of him, sort of like a stuffed frog but more in shock. “Jeeves?”

  
“I beg your pardon Sir. It is…a lot to take in.” For a miracle I sat quietly while he digested it all. “This is a sound plan, Sir, and very generous. I very much appreciate it.”  
“What do you mean generous? Jeeves! Do you really think I’d tell you to steer clear of further frolics just so we wouldn’t potentially run into each other? For heaven’s sake man.”  
“I know many who have been told just that, Sir. If I were aware this were a regular activity of yours, I would not have revealed myself for this very reason.”  
“I still can’t believe we didn’t realise this earlier, Jeeves. You’ve been here for a couple years after all.”  
“Approaching three, Sir. The contingency was a remote one. Considering there are numerous clubs that cater to this particular predilection, and I gather neither of us have traditionally visited them particularly often.”  
“You can say that again, Jeeves. I barely went until this season, not regularly at least.”  
“The shows, Sir?”  
“They seemed a dashed good cover, I thought. I was down in the old location of the club we were at last night. They had a piano.”  
“I imagine that was particularly welcome, Sir.” He was more relaxed now, so I relaxed too. In short, the whole atmosphere was a sight more relaxed, so I took a punt. “Theodore is leaving then?”

  
Jeeves looked a little surprised.

“I did not anticipate talking with anybody about this Sir.” He explained, going off to refresh the pot and check on the dinner as well. “His boat left this morning; he has a new position in the East.”  
“Not Japan?” I joshed him, very gently, for he had recently been selling me the delights of that country.  
“No Sir, not Japan. The islands of Indonesia.” He looked mildly scandalised at the idea that he would mix business with pleasure. “He does not expect to return for some time.”  
“I am sorry, old thing.” There was silence for a moment. “If there’s anything I can do…” Jeeves poured the tea, having apparently decided we were, indeed, friends. “It’s very kind of you Sir.” He allowed, and we talked for some time of Theodore – how they had met and how long they had been together and so on. It was all very cosy and I was enjoying myself immensely.

“And yourself, Sir?” Jeeves asked, perhaps thinking he’d rather dominated the conversation.”  
“Nobody in particular. The odd chap here and there, but not a specific chap.” Jeeves raised his left eyebrow as though he wanted an explanation, so I tried to give him one. “Not sure if I’m cut out for the death do us part thing, Jeeves. It’s a nice idea and all that, I have nothing against it, I just don’t think it’s particular realistic. Take, oh, Rocky, for example.”  
“Rocky, Sir?”  
“Rockmetteller Todd, Jeeves. Now, I know he isn’t your cup of tea but I hope you can admit he has a certain – what’s the word I’m looking for?”  
“je n'ais ce quoi?”  
“Exactly! He can put words together like nobody’s business, and is quite, um, affectionate. Sends wee notes and all that. Besides which you can’t deny he looks smashing, particularly when all done up.” Jeeves’ remarkable bean nodded and I continued, “but despite all that I can’t imagine living with the fellow, or even carrying on with him more regularly. I don’t even write to him that often. One of those things I suppose. Whenever I try with any of those chaps, it just feels like a chore and neither of us get much out of it. Too many years of being alone I suppose.”  
“Many would say it is different with the correct mate, Sir.”  
“Do you think it is?”  
“I think all relationships require effort and to suggest it is automatically easier with the correct mate, and remains that way, is to set oneself up for failure. In my experience, Sir, what works in the music hall or on the silver screen does not always work in the real world.”  
“You mean it’s not all The Big Kiss, fade to black, applause?”  
“Indeed not Sir.” He interpreted my silent request for more reasoning quite amiably.

“While Theodore and I have always enjoyed each other’s company, and neither of us are loathe to write, it is difficult to maintain a relationship in secret while living with another.” He paused, and I thought I saw him blush.   
“You’re blushing Jeeves!” I accused him.  
He rubbed a hand over his face and downed his glass and I knew he had him. “You’re blushing!” I repeated, “whyever are you doing that?”  
“Pardon me Sir, I shall be better directly.”  
“You bally well shan’t, till you tell me what happened.” I refilled our glasses and waited, agog.  
“Theodore occasionally made...suggestions...Sir. Suggestions you were perhaps interested in myself. I thought you were interested only in young ladies, and explained this to him on no uncertain terms. For some weeks he and I did not speak. Shortly after that I accompanied you to New York, which placed further strain on our relationship.”  
“Jeeves! I am sorry. I had no idea.”  
“You were not supposed to, Sir.” He sounded almost fond of the young master’s silliness.  
“Not that I’m not very flattered, Jeeves, because I am, you’re a bit of a catch you know.” He blushed harder and I hurried on, “brains and bod and…well. Despite that, I hope Theodore doesn’t think I’m the sort of chap to attempt to take a liberty just because Adonis – Adonis, Jeeves?”  
A rather pink-faced Jeeves nodded, “Adonis is widely believed to be a particularly handsome god.”  
“Yes. Adonis. Just because Adonis happens to be acting as personal gentlemen’s gentleman doesn’t at all give said gentleman any allowance for trying it on. I hope you told Theodore that.”  
Jeeves looked a little kerflummoxed, which wasn’t a sight I was expecting to see. “Jeeves?” I topped up our drinks as a precaution.  
“Please excuse me Sir.” The paragon requested, and downed a whole glass of brandy like he was preparing for a competition! I topped up the glass again, and took a turn to the window and back to give the poor fellow his space. It took barely the time for some chappie in a bowler hat down below to walk the length of the block before Jeeves indicated with a gentle sip of the amber that he was prepared to return to the conversation in hand. The man in the hat disappeared. I returned to the table.

“In truth, Sir, I informed Theodore that you were interested in women, and he and I returned to our status quo. It was awkward, but it did not cause a lasting rift between us.”  
“Jolly good!” I beamed, dashed pleased that sort of misunderstanding hadn’t turned into anything worse, “that’s what I like to hear, two hearts reunited etcetera etcetera. Oh. I’m sorry Jeeves. I’m an ass.” I added, remembering that no matter the previous union they were in fact currently two hearts un-united. “I’m sorry.”  
He sort of waggled the top of his right eyebrow and indicated it wasn’t a pressing concern of his at the mo’. “It is of no matter, Mr. Wooster.” He intoned. In quite a different tone, indicating our cosy chat was done with, he added, “will you be dining in tonight?”  
“Absolutely old thing. I’m going finish off that book I picked up last week, unless there’s anything in the old diary?”  
“There is not Sir.” Jeeves settled me comfortably and returned to work his wonders throughout the flat. I didn’t get a lot of reading done, but counted the afternoon a success nonetheless.

***

We kidded back and forth a bit after our big discussion, but there was nary a suggestion that we were anything more than friends. It had been perhaps six months when Jeeves raised the subject again. By this stage self had enjoyed a certain level of popularity at various clubs, and I presumed Jeeves had been recovering from the forced separation of himself and Theodore. He raised it as he does most things, by standing respectfully near self despite having dispensed the tea, the raisin muffin, and the butter for same.

  
“Yes Jeeves?”  
“Pardon me Sir, I wondered if I could speak with you on a sensitive subject.”  
“Oh?” I put aside the tea, the raisin muffin, and the butter, closed the book, and sat upright. “Take a load off and speak away. You have our ear.”  
Well, he didn’t exactly take a load off, but he did speak away. “It is about our personal circumstances. I wonder if you have heard of the upcoming Christmas Revel at The Carnation?”  
“I have” I assured him, “it promises to be a good time for all involved. I heard there was an exotic dance troupe attending.”  
“Also an American Jazz Orchestra, if I am correct in my understanding of the matter.”  
“You are always correct, Jeeves. I had heard likewise. I intended to go along, with bells on. It should be a bally good wheeze. Will you also attend?”  
The paragon cleared his throat like a reproving mother sheep. “It is not my usual night off, Sir. I should not like to take that liberty.”  
“Nonsense. Take the night off. I shan’t be holed up in here when there’s fun to be had at The Carnation, so there’s no need for you to do anything other than go.” He continued to look slightly dubious and I frowned. “You remain disturbed, Jeeves. If not an assurance that you shall go to the ball, what is this raising of the Christmas Revel _motif_?”

  
He shuffled his feet about one third of a millimeter and looked somewhat chastened. I don’t think I’ve seen the man look so upset since I rode 18 miles over rough ground in the rain, returning home to my Aunt’s dwelling to the broad amusement of all. “I hardly know where to begin, Sir.”  
“That’s a good place to begin.” I counselled, “what don’t you know where to begin?”  
“Your friend Tom, Sir. His latest – ahem – _paramour_ is not, I understand, everything he presents himself as.”  
“The chappie with the side whiskers you mean?”  
“There is a significant amount of hair adorning the face of the gentleman, indeed. I understand he has presented himself as the same sort of gentleman as yourself, of a high class and with some currently vague pressure to marry and carry on the family name. He certainly dresses and converses as any man who has been to Oxford or Cambridge would do. However when holding a more detailed conversation with the gentleman I became convinced he is in fact acting a part, with the intention to obtain pecuniary gain.”  
“But Jeeves, he’s been after Tom for six months! That’s longer than any relationship Tom’s ever been in. He doesn’t need that sort of time to start stealing off Tom. I know for a fact the lad’s been dotty about those whiskers since he first saw them well on a year ago.”  
“It is true that confidence tricksters seldom spend so long preparing a subject Sir, however I believe two aspects of the case explain the length of time involved. The first is the faux-gentleman is no doubt intending to use Tom for his long-term support and nefarious activities. The second is he has been in prison.”

I gargled. “Say that last bit again Jeeves? It sounded like you said he’s been in prison.”  
Jeeves inclined the coconut rather grandly, “that was precisely what I stated, Sir. This, I hesitate to use the word ‘gentleman’, has recently returned from a stretch of some weeks at His Majesty’s facility in Dartmoor.”

“By golly!” I expostulated, and then, “by Jove!” in case it hadn’t quite expressed the severity of the situation. “Gosh!” I ended with, reaching blindly for the restorative tea.  
“Indeed Sir.” Jeeves intoned, passing the tea and standing by while my world slowly righted itself. “Not for-?”  
“No Sir. For effecting an entrance to an established country house, followed by removing some choice _objects d’art_ and selling them for a considerable sum. Coupled with some inflammatory brochures found drafted in his rooms, he was placed into gaol.”  
I was staggered. “I’m staggered” I informed Jeeves, “he’s been running around the place writing inflammatory brochures and stealing stuff from the landed gentry? He seemed nice enough the couple of times we’ve met.”  
“An act I believe, Sir.” This paragon of valets intoned, “unfortunately I do not feel that Tom is aware of the danger. Nor” he continued, deferentially, “is it something I would wish to act on without your guidance, not knowing the man well.”  
“Sit down Jeeves. I want to talk this out. No, hang on.” I realized the tea was empty, “let’s retire to the kitchen and have a proper chat.” The kitchen being, in the way of things, the most neutral space available.

Once settled, he did indeed have a proper chat. After much to-ing and fro-ing, and “I would consider that plan injudicious Sir”-ing from Jeeves, we had the basic outline of a plan that would tell Tom and hopefully suitably distract him, at the same time preventing a probable blackmailer from running rampant through The Carnation. I had high hopes of everything being sorted well in advance of the Christmas revel, allowing us a night off with friends and some jolly old company. Truth be told, I enjoyed the nights when Jeeves and self were both at the same club; Jeeves has an inspired sense of humour, a light step, a deft hand on the cocktail shaker, and is widely considered by all to be the feline night attire. A night with Jeeves in the club tends to perk everybody up, rather like the pick-me-ups I regularly require the morning after such a night.

I think both of us were champing at the bit to get started. Or, knowing Jeeves’ opinion on facial hair, perhaps he was less excited than I at the incipient changes. “It’s for the greater good” I encouraged him on the third day after shaving had ceased, “once a blackmailer gets inside the jolly old club who knows where he’ll end?”  
“I am aware of that Sir” he almost grumbled into the morning pot, “however that does not altogether prevent one from feeling less than sanguine.” I blinked. I boggled. I was overcome with emotion. “But Jeeves” I nearly wailed, “this was all your idea. Don’t say you think it will come a beastly cropper!”  
“You misunderstand me Sir.” He soothed, readying the raiment, “I meant merely that moustaches have never endeared themselves to me. I apologise. I shall be better directly.”  
“Oh take your time.” I reassured him, “I well remember your previous reaction to the last lot of facial hair to reside in this flat.” I had ended up shaved and looking exactly how Jeeves thought best before I’d known what was coming to me.  
“Thank you Sir.” That was the end of the matter for another week. We had decided to give it plenty of time for the mo’ to bed in properly. It promised, as with most things Jeeves decides is required, to be simply the last word in dishy dial-cover. Every morning I examined it and found it more luxuriant and enticing than the day before. It got to the point where I couldn’t see Tom doing more than waving a negligent finger in farewell as he answered the call of this magnificent example of manliness.

Cometh the hour cometh the Wooster, as they say, and on the appointed evening, I trotted down to The Carnation looking like I had nary a care in the world. As with that fateful evening so many months ago, I was a touch on the early side, though this time it was carefully planned by the General of the whole operation – one R. Jeeves. He was loitering back at the flat and would put in an appearance later that evening.

“Evening Tom.” I greeted the object of our campaign, “a brandy wouldn’t go amiss, if you have one.”  
Tom served up the b. and a welcoming enough smile. “There you are Bertie.” He looked rather like a man who’s stepped onto the bottom stair only to find he’s miscounted and there isn’t another. “I say old thing, what’s the trouble?” He looked reluctant but I coaxed and cajoled and there weren’t many others around yet so he muttered that not everything was well in the state of Denmark. We were warming to the subj. when he looked furtive and I knew the handlebarred heathen was entering. “Val thinks he’s up to no good.” I whispered, “if you agree, go and cosy up to the chap when he arrives. It’s all sorted.”  
Tom looked more than a little nonplussed and I recalled that although I had used the name Jeeves was known by here, Tom had yet to learn about our chumminess. “He’s by way of being a brainy cove as you know, and he found out a few things and was worried.” I extemporised, if that means what I think it does. In any case there wasn’t time for more. As understanding swept Tom’s face so I felt the stealthy warmth of the handlebarred h. invading my personal space. “Ta for the drink” I trilled, taking a fresh glass of brandy off the counter and turning. Making my excuses, I trotted off to the piano.

It’s the dickens of the thing, but I’ve noted it more than once. No sooner do you sit down at the piano and start tinkering away but people sort of forget that you’re there. I’m seasoned enough now that I can bash away at most tunes and keep an eye on what is going on. The trouble comes, as I’ve mentioned before, when the tune isn’t so simple and I get in behind it. Then it’s as like as not that some chappie will drift over and do a thing or two. In this case, I steered clear of any such tunes, just settling in to the normal music hall type thing. I was enjoying a good round of ‘Minnie the Moocher’ when Jeeves walked in.

Now up until this point, Tom had been trying to talk with his man while steering clear of the whole thing. He spent a lot of time down the other end of the bar, and generally didn’t seem so keen on him any more. I thought this an excellent sign and was sure that Jeeves would agree. I was nearly so busy watching him arrive that I missed Tom’s reaction, but I’m glad that I switched the baby blues back in time.

Right away Tom did the sort of double-take I thought they did only in the movies. His jaw sort of dropped, and his tongue attempted to pick it back up again. His hands shook, and he spilled at least two measures of top-shelf whisky into the ice bucket and surrounding area. Even from halfway across the room I could see his adam’s apple bobbing around like a toy boat out on the Channel. There was no doubt about it, the sight of Jeeves all dressed up and ready to go a-wooing had got in amongst the barman and socked him right between the eyes.

I couldn’t hear what was being said, of course, but Jeeves had stalked over to the bar like a panther who knows exactly who it wants to snack on, and Tom was handing over a brimming flagon while watching the paragon with eyes the size of dinner plates. I must say, I couldn’t blame poor Tom at all. It was just as well his current chap was out of the way, was all I could say. Jeeves is an impressive sight at the best of times, but tonight he had extended himself and the results were simply astonishing. I’ve admired him before of course, in the sort of way a man notices a fine-looking chap, but I’d not had the overwhelming urge to put self between him and a wall before. Yet such was the urge I was subjected to at this moment.

Jeeves – Val, I should say – had donned the outer crust like he was born to it. His posture was more impeccable than ever. His hair was meticulously parted and lay exactly flat except for a single thread which dropped slightly over that broad and intelligent forehead. I’m sure mine weren’t the only fingers that itched to push that lock back into place…or disarrange the rest of the locks to match. His trousers achieved the perfect break over the highly-polished instep. The waistcoat hugged his well-known figure as if to slyly suggest at the delights it coated. His tie set off his eyes to perfection. All in all, if one was looking for an example of what the well-dressed man is wearing, one would simply trot Val out and let the audience do the rest. The shocking bit about it though wasn’t how well he pulled off the suit, but how the dreaded face fungus improved upon the whole, so he was achieving the pinnacle of perfection. This face fungus had been grown, of course, to encourage Tom to turn from his current hound of hell to Jeeves. Only, I hadn’t expected it to sting so.

All was quiet at the bar for some time. I could see Val and Tom chatting, then Val and about twelve other coves all chatting, then Tom leaning after Val like a lovelorn puppy. Jeeves paused in following the crowd over to the dance floor, dropping a chaste labial press onto a very flushed cheek. I watched with apprehension growing like ivy up the side of an abandoned village church. Tom and The Handlebar hadn’t so much as parted ways, and here was Jeeves practically promising Tom a dashed good evening. There were other feelings in the tum that I didn’t want to examine too closely, either, lest I catch their green eyes. Jeeves did look _very_ good in his suit. That mo’! It was enough to tempt a priest.

So busy was I in not feeling too jealous that I nearly missed a very familiar hand setting a glass on the top of the piano and steadying himself on the willowy shoulder. “I believe the undertaking will continue much as I foresaw it” Jeeves’ delightfully deep voice informed me, “unfortunately you are about to receive some unwanted attention.”  
“Hence the drink” I guessed, seeing the approach of the mo to ensnare all good men and true.  
“Hence the drink” Jeeves – Val – informed me.  
“You’re by way of a bit of a marvel.” I informed him, looking up into his eyes and realising I was rather on the way to being helplessly lost. How could I refuse a man with eyes just barely melting around the edges, a body like one of those Greek chappies, and a face somehow more handsome when covered by the manliest, bushiest, most impressive, piece of facial adornment seen this side of the Channel.

No sooner had I realised all of this, and discerned a slight softening around the ocular region on his handsome phisog. when a meaty hand slapped itself down on the top of the piano.

“So!” the owner of said hand hissed, “here you two are.” I hadn’t known it was possible to hiss a sentence so lacking in sibilant consonants, but apparently this chap had been educated at a different school than this Wooster.

“Is there a problem?” Jeeves asked, tone just the other side of polite. The sort of tone he might use when dispatching of Aunt Agatha on a bad day.  
“A problem? I’d say there’s a problem! I go away for a day or two and come back to find poor sweet Tom unable to step out from that bar without being accosted, first by _you_ ” here the Wooster shoulder was again manhandled, but far less pleasantly than when Jeeves had done it. “and then by you!” Jeeves’ exceptional chest was poked several times with a broad digit.  
“Kindly cease.” Jeeves squinted down at the finger as though being accosted by some sort of small good found at the back of the butcher’s shop.  
“Kindly cease? Kindly cease? I should be saying that to you, _mate_.” There followed a torrent of abuse I shan’t record here, but it was strong stuff. Jeeves bore it like a stoic, regarding his attacker like some sort of speck of dust attempting to settle on the buffet table. This went on for some time. I had stood at some stage in the proceedings and slowly more chaps and fellows drifted closer.

After that, I’m not entirely sure I know what happened. I knew Tom was popular of course, and I had sort of had an inkling that one or two fellows knew who I was. I hadn’t expected a surge of fellows surrounding the handlebarred menace until the doorman could come by and forcibly escort him out. It was all such a shock that I wasn’t really sure what was happening for a goodish while, until I realised I was back on the piano bench and sipping the drink Jeeves had provided only a quarter of an hour before. All around me was a huddle of men checking I was alright, checking Val was alright, even a few going over to check on Tom. Through this huddle I saw Jeeves’ worried glance and managed to reassure him I was alright.

“That was unexpected Val!” I chirruped, amazed at how solidly the voice slid over the old larynx, “quite a shock! Hope it hasn’t put you off young Tom.”  
His noble throat appeared to work for a moment before the corner of his mouth flickered in the sort of smile he occasionally indulges in when we are at home. “Not at all.” He intoned, extricating himself from the crowd and striding over to the bar like a man returning from war to throw his bride over his shoulder and take her home. Well, you know what I mean.

For some reason I wasn’t terribly keen on sticking around after that. The fellows that had swarmed around had just as quickly ebbed back to the dance floor, and Val and Tom were all gooey eyed over the soda siphons. I played a few more songs and called it a night. It would be dangerous to indicated anything to Jeeves so I snuck out while he was busily explaining to some upstart or other how happy he was with Tom. The whole thing was downright dripping in sugar and I felt somewhat sick.

The sick feeling didn’t leave until the next morning when Jeeves rallied around with the tea the moment I had considered it might be required. “A clement day I think Sir.” He intoned, setting the room up for the day. I relaxed into the pillows. The tum un-knotted itself. “Clement, would you say?”  
“Indeed Sir.” Jeeves raised the left corner of his mouth very fractionally, then he cleared his throat. “If I may Sir, perhaps I could relate the rest of my evening to you?” I nodded, indicating he might perhaps be more comfortable in less of his valet posture. This was, after all, a conversation between two men and not between master and servant. Unusually, he agreed, and sort of propped up the wall. It wasn’t that he slouched mind you, he just stood there like a normal man. Well, like a paragon of course, but a human paragon.

“The – ahem – gentleman did not return, I am sure you are reassured to know.”  
“I jolly well am! I guess he won’t be coming along any time soon.”  
“I believe that is the case. As Tom and I were leaving, the guard on the door was eager to reassure us that the gentleman has been banned from the establishment.”  
“You, er, left with Tom then?”  
Jeeves inclined his head, smoothing down his facial hair in a way that I still wasn’t quite used to. “I thought it would add verisimilitude to the suggestion that he and I were now involved.” Well, I couldn’t argue with that, but it made my insides tie themselves up like a particularly unhappy python all over again. I put down the cup and regarded Jeeves warmly.

He’d been an absolute picture of suavity last night, in his penguin suit and locks artfully arranged, but this morning, propped against the wall, hair slicked back and his normal togs attiring him, he looked so dashed comfortable and homely that it quite took my breath away.

“Upon ensuring the young man achieved his abode, I returned here.” The dear fellow finished, stepping forward and meeting my rather besotted gaze. “To you.” He added, and absolutely trembled as he perched on the edge of the bed!  
“I say” I breathed, “that’s rather topping of you. I-” suddenly it all seemed too much to try and force out in words at that hour of the morning, and I lunged forward as he trembled towards me, and it was all a bit confused at the start but we more than got there in the end.

“I hope you won’t be shaving this thing off any time soon.” I murmured eventually, stroking the delightful mo’, “it gives you quite a rakish air.” The dear man positively winked at me! Winked and then quite literally let his hair down. “I hope we can reach some sort of compromise, Bertram?” he inquired, and really, isn’t that what being paired for life is all about?

**Author's Note:**

> A few historical facts:
> 
> \- Jeeves goes by 'Val' because I didn't think he'd use his first name, so I decided Percival would be his middle name as Plum named him after Percy Jeeves (a famous cricketer from the time) who was killed at the Somme.  
> \- Battling Butler has some pretty fruity numbers in it, I recommend a listen.  
> \- The Royal Mail really did have a light gauge railway under London, it was built in the right place and at roughly the right time, and you can visit and ride on it now!  
> \- The National Trust has some good information on Met. raids on London gay bars; I used photos from the Met. files to imagine The Carnation.


End file.
